Beth - Part 2 - The Return
by Saddletramp
Summary: Continuation of Beth - Part 1 - To Have and To Hold - Written as challenge to write a story where the boys fall in love and get married. Jess heads for home but past enemies have other ideas. WARNING! For those who do NOT like Jess being hurt DO NOT READ - skip to BETH - PART 3 - RECOVERY AND REDEMPTION. You won't miss any of the story


Author's note: This is a sequel to the story Beth. Beth was originally written in answer to the challenge - what would happen if the boys fell in love and married. It helps to have read it, but The Return can stand alone. Jess heads for home but past enemies have other ideas about him ever reaching it.

**Warning – extreme violence**

**NOTE: For those who do not like Jess getting badly hurt, you can skip this story and go directly to Beth – Part 3. You won't lose anything by skipping this story.**

_**Beth – part 2 - THE RETURN**_

Mrs. Slim Sherman (Beth) writes:

It has been over a year since Jess Harper, my husband's best friend and partner, rode out of our lives. It feels like only yesterday when Slim and I stood on the porch of our Sherman-Harper Ranch, watching him ride away. It was one of the few times I ever saw tears grace Slim's face. I hadn't heard the last words the boys had said to each other, but I could tell by their body language they both were miserable. Nodding at Slim, Jess had hopped into his stirrup and mounted Traveler. As he rode away, I saw him swipe an arm across his eyes.

He hadn't wanted to leave but family obligations called him. His sister, Francie, had sent for him after her husband died. She needed him. Before he left, he had asked Slim to take back his half of the ranch. He didn't expect to return. Slim had talked him into postponing dissolving the partnership. Give it a year he had said. See how things are then. Perhaps things would change in that year, and they would be glad they hadn't acted in haste. They could always sign the dissolution papers at a later date. So, we had stood on the porch, watching Slim's dark haired partner until he paused on the ridge at the top of the hill. He had raised his hand in their timeless greeting of hello and goodbye, waiting until Slim did the same. Then he had turned and ridden out of our lives.

Slim still misses him terribly. Even now, he sometimes stands out on the porch staring at the horizon, expecting to see his friend riding down the road that leads to our ranch. I see his sadness in the way his broad shoulders sag a little when he thinks no one is watching. As much as Slim loves me, there is emptiness within him I cannot fill or heal. That requires Jess - his missing partner. At first, Jess wrote at least once a month. They were short, but were news and family letters. Well, as newsy as Jess could ever be – which wasn't much. With his help, Francie was getting along without Ben; putting her life back together. Then the letters arrived further apart until they stopped coming altogether. It appeared as though Jess was creating a new life for himself out in California too.

Then again, Jess had changed after Daisy passed away. The loss hurt him deeply and he wasn't handling it well. The infamous Harper temper came back in full force and with an even shorter fuse. Maybe that is why Slim couldn't talk him out of leaving. We had offered to bring Francie to Laramie and make a home for her here. But Jess had been adamant she wouldn't leave California.

Slim had been devastated when Jess rode away. But as time went on, Slim threw himself into expanding the ranch. He and Jess had had a vision for what it could be and was determined to make it happen. He poured over the plans they had drawn out together – the new barn, a storage shed, some alterations to the original homestead, and most importantly, a new house which Jess had designed for himself. Some days Slim worked himself to exhaustion, falling into bed without eating supper. He and the ranch hands worked from dawn to dusk improving the ranch. Slim's pride and joy was the newly expanded barn and corrals – phase one of the ranch expansion.

It was about three months after Jess had left when lightning struck the barn, igniting a fire and burning it to the ground. Slim and the ranch hands watched helplessly as flames destroyed the barn and, with it, most of the winter's feed supply. I thought that would kill Slim. The barn could be rebuilt, but now feed would have to be bought. We could survive, but it would take every extra penny we had saved. It seemed that fate had brought another cruel twist into my husband's life.

About a week after the fire, Mort Cory rode into the yard. I met him on the porch and could tell immediately he was there in an official capacity. He wanted to talk to Slim. I sent one of the hands to fetch Slim and invited Mort to come inside. He climbed down off his horse like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was solemn as he accepted a seat at the table. Slim, always glad to see his friend, strode in with a huge smile on his face – but froze when he saw Mort's slumped shoulders. It was painful to hear Mort's sorrowful voice say. "Sit down Slim, Mary Beth" he'd added, nodding at me. Stoically, Slim had pulled out a chair for me before sliding into his at the head of the table, his face unreadable.

Mort reached into his vest pocket drawing out an official looking envelope marked "Slim Sherman, c/o Mort Cory, Sheriff, Laramie, Wyoming". It bore the mark of a lawyer's office in Medicine Bow. Slim swallowed so hard I could hear it. When I looked at him, his face was drawn and pale. Their eyes met as Mort pushed the envelope towards Slim.

"This was in a packet that arrived at the jail this morning. Don't know why they didn't send it direct, but I 'pect it was intended that I deliver it in person." He started to rise to leave but Slim reached out a hand to stop him.

"No. Stay. If this is what we think it is, I want you to be here." Mort nodded, sitting back down. His face betrayed what he thought was in the envelope. He suddenly looked older, his age lines deeper and his eyes filled with sadness. Somehow, we all knew whatever was in the envelope had to do with Jess. We all feared it was notifying us of his death.

Slim took a deep breath before opening the envelope; steeling himself to face whatever news it contained. As he pulled out the letter, something fell onto the table. Mort picked it up, turned it over and a shocked look overtook his features. He handed the paper over to me. It was a bank draft in a significant amount. I know my mouth dropped open and I'm sure my face reflected his shocked look. Slim hadn't noticed. He was absorbed in reading the letter. We watched as Slim's face changed from grief to surprise. His hairline receded as his forehead went from scrunched up in worry to wide-eyed wonder, followed by a "Damn it, Jess, what are you into?"

Slim smiled ruefully as he handed over the letter, so Mort could read it for himself. Shaking his head, he had turned to me, took my hand and said, "You aren't going to believe this." Confused, I watched as Mort's eyes lit up, a grin crossing his weathered face. Since no one was explaining anything to me, I snatched the letter from Mort's hand and read it for myself. The letter was full of a lot of legalese, but it told how Jess had set up a special trust fund. In his absence, the law firm had been directed to distribute funds to the Sherman-Harper Ranch monthly. It was to continue in perpetuity until such time as the firm was notified of his demise. In the latter instance, the law firm was to make a final distribution of all assets to Slim Sherman.

The three of us had sat there, staring at each other, not knowing what to say. When we could find our voices, the questions came fast and furious. Only none of us had the answers. The notation on the bank draft said "monthly distribution", therefore, we believed that Jess was still alive. Later, Slim and Mort had tried to find out more from the law firm but got nowhere. It had been Jess's directive that the drafts be sent to Mort Cory for delivery. No one at the law firm knew (or at least they wouldn't say) where the funds came from – only that they were deposited into the account on a regular basis.

Slim used the first draft to rebuild the barn and buy winter feed. After that, he put the monthly checks into a separate account, only using the money for the few things he knew Jess would want him to spend it on – new breeding stock and Mike's schooling in St. Louis. The rest he saved so they could build Jess' new house when he returned. Slim was sure he would come home. I didn't want to think about how Slim would take it if Jess never returned.

Nathanial Mathew Sherman was born during Jess' absence. I wrote the news to Jess in care of Francie's address. There had been no reply – not even from Francie. Was he even still at his sister's ranch? Did he know he had become an uncle? Slim was a doting father, making sure he spent time with his son. Our lives would have been perfect except for the missing piece of our family – Jess. We prayed that – if Jess couldn't be with us – he was safe with Francie. We knew he would revel in being an uncle.

Mort visited us often - becoming Nate's official Grandpa. He brought gifts and delighted in holding Nate, telling him tall tales about both his father and uncle (even though Nate couldn't understand a word of it). And Nate took to him too. By the time Nate was 9 months old, he was toddling a beeline to the door whenever he heard his Grandpa Mort's voice.

Mort became a welcome and regular Sunday dinner guest. After dinner, Mort would rock Nathanial to sleep while Slim helped me clean up the table and do dishes. Then we'd sit down for coffee and conversation. Our conversations always roamed over how the ranch was doing, what everyone in town was up to, but would always circle back around to discussing Jess. We all speculated at where he was and what he was up to. Slim often wondered aloud what Jess was doing that financed those monthly checks. But, as always, there were no answers. The months wore on and before we knew it, Jess had been gone over a year.

One day, in the middle of the week, Mort and another man arrived unexpectedly. I was introduced to the man riding with him as Branch McGary, U.S. Marshal. Slim greeted Mort warmly but was noticeably cool to Branch. Slim had told me about the incident at Stillwater Crossing. Apparently, he still hadn't quite forgiven Branch for Jess nearly dying. He seemed to have conveniently forgotten Branch also saved Jess' life that day. Maybe Slim was still just disgruntled over Branch's sense of humor the day he had delivered the injured Jess home in the tumbleweed wagon.

The atmosphere was light but slightly strained as they talked and joked until Mort looked around like he was expecting someone or something to happen. Finally, he said "Where's Jess? Thought he'd put in an appearance by now. You don't have him out riding fences in the north pasture already have you?"

Slim's cup slammed onto the table. It was obvious that he was both confused and angry. "What are you talking about? You know blamed well that Jess isn't here; hasn't been for over a year."

Both Mort and Branch glanced quickly at each other before turning back to Slim. In a terse voice, Branch said "I saw Jess in Rock Springs a little over a week ago. He said he was sending a telegram home, so you'd be expecting him. He was taking the train to Medicine Bow and then riding home – something about having to take care of some business. From Rock Springs, I headed down to Green River and then various stops until I reached Laramie. I figured he'd gotten here ahead of me. I was in the area and dropped in on Mort. When Mort found out he was home, we decided to ride out to say 'Hi". Didn't he wire you?"

Slim was livid. He trembled with barely controlled anger as a multitude of emotions crossed his face – surprise, anger, hurt, anguish. "No! I haven't heard a word from him in several months – ever since he stopped writing the letters."

"I don't understand it." Branch said, shaking his head. "Jess was at the Rock Springs telegraph office the same time I was. I saw him hand the clerk his message. I know he paid to have it sent. He was headed home, Slim. He should have been here by now."

"Well, he ain't here now is he?" Slim stormed, his temper barely abated.

There was an awkward silence as the words Slim had said sunk in. Jess was missing.

Slim leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and raking a hand through his sun streaked hair. Then, straightening, he looked at Mort and Branch, simply saying: "Where do we start?"

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

Jess' head rested on his chest. It hurt too much to try to lift it. His hands were tied above his head; his body suspended mere inches off the floor by the ropes cutting into his wrists. He was in the ruins of a run-down barn. Instinctively, he fought to free his hands, only to feel the ropes cutting into him more deeply. His ankles were tied together; his feet barely touching the dirt floor. If he pushed with his toes, he could give his arms a brief relief before his feet would slip and they took his weight again, He hurt all over. The pain radiating over his mid-section told him he'd been worked over while he had been unconscious.

As he surveyed his surroundings, he noted the barn was dim save for the daylight which shown through the cracks between the boards. He could smell moldy hay in the mow, and it covered the dirt floor. Cobwebs crisscrossed the stalls he could see. A shadow crossed over him. When he looked up, his heart lurched. A hangman's noose swung gently to and fro in the breeze from a boarded-up window. Panic for his own safety set in as he again fought to free himself. He succeeded only in causing further damage to his abraded wrists. He had no idea where he was or why he was there.

He struggled to remember what had happened. He had been headed home – to Laramie. He'd wired ahead twice to let Slim and Beth know he was coming – once when he left California and the second at Rock Springs because he was arriving a day later than planned. During the year he had been with his sister, Francie, she had met and married one of the local farmers. She was once again happy, and Jess approved of her new husband. Knowing he was leaving her in capable hands, and with Francie's blessing, he had set out for the only home he'd known since he was 15 – Laramie – and the Sherman-Harper Ranch. He may have been in California, but his heart had remained in Laramie. He couldn't wait to be home; to build his own house like he and Slim and planned.

He'd only been a couple of miles out of Laramie and looking forward to seeing his family; to sleeping in his own bed. Maybe that was why he wasn't as vigilant as normal when he rounded a bend in the road. Ahead of him he could see a man beating another man. As he had galloped towards them, he'd fired shots, knowing the range was too great for his revolver. But the assailant had turned and fled, leaving his victim lying motionless in the road. He'd pulled Traveler to a halt beside the man and dismounted to see if he could help. The last thing he remembered was kneeling beside the inert body. He'd heard a sound behind him and turned – then it was lights out. That's probably what accounted for his massive headache. He had regained consciousness, strung up like this, in the dilapidated barn.

The barn door swung open and the mystery of his capture was solved. He recognized his captors. He hadn't realized it when he made that fateful stop to lend assistance, but the assailant and "victim" from Laramie Road were none other than Howard and Jonathon Granger. Jess' testimony had helped convict their father who had been hung for his crimes. The younger one – Howard – now wore some of Jess' clothes – his vest and hat. Jess' gloves were folded neatly over his gun belt which now lay across Howard's hips. Howard reeked of evil. Jess felt a jolt, realizing how much Howard closely resembled him. The hair was a slightly different color, as were his eyes. But a quick glance, especially from someone who didn't know Jess well – and Howard could easily be mistaken for him. But the older one, Jonathan, was the one that made Jess' blood run cold. It was his eyes. Jess had seen that look before. They were the eyes of someone with no soul; a ruthless killer who cared nothing about anyone.

Seeing Jess' disapproval, Howard had grinned wickedly. He drew his revolver and caressed it like a lover before approaching Jess and ramming the barrel under his jaw.

His eyes went from Jess to the hangman's noose and back again. His voice had been sinister as he spoke. "We're gonna let you down now. An' you're gonna be a good boy an' not cause any trouble. One false move and this here gun's gonna go off. Got it?" When Jess glared at him but didn't answer, the younger man pulled the hammer back and rammed the gun deeper under his jaw. "I said – you understand?" Jess growled out a "ya, I got it." The pressure was eased from his neck, the hammer released; but the gun remained at his throat.

Howard grabbed Jess by his shirt collar, allowing his gun hand to drop by his side. As soon as the rope tying his wrists was cut, Howard jerked Jess forward. With his feet tied, he was easily slammed onto the dirt floor. Howard immediately pinned Jess' neck to the ground with one hand before placing the gun's barrel firmly behind Jess's ear. Jess heard the ominous sound of the hammer being cocked. Just as swiftly, Jonathan knelt on his back, knocking the wind from him. Rough hands grabbed both wrists and twisted them behind his back. The new bindings cut into his already raw flesh and he quickly lost the feeling in his hands. For a brief moment he considered fighting the men holding him down but forced himself to remain still. His time would come. He'd wait until circumstances were more in his favor. If his captors could have seen his eyes, they would have seen the contemptuous anger burning there.

They released the rope from his ankles and hauled him to his feet. He was unprepared for the fist driven into his abdomen, driving the air from his lungs. He would have fallen except for them holding him up. He swayed unsteadily as they half carried; half dragged him towards the open door – and the noose. He struggled against their rough grip, hearing them argue back and forth.

"C'mon, Howard." Jonathan shouted. "Let's get this done. Ain't no time to be wasting. I want my first crack at this good for nothing piece of trash. You already got your licks in. You didn't mind him being passed out. I want him awake and feeling everything he's got coming to him. I'll show him what happens when you testify against the Granger family."

They continued to drag Jess towards the open doorway, stopping underneath the noose. Jess had no idea if they intended to hang him then and there or not, but he wasn't about to stay around to find out. He pretended to stumble, purposely falling into Howard knocking him to the ground as they both fell. When Jonathan bent to grab him, Jess planted a boot square in the man's face, making him fall backwards, howling from a broken nose.

Jess jumped to his feet and ran outside, momentarily skidding to a stop, searching for an escape route. As he frantically surveyed his surroundings, he saw his only opportunity in the sparse woods behind the house. Jess began running towards the woods, hoping it would afford him some cover. He was fleet of foot and crashed through the forest hindered only by his hands still bound behind his back. Heedless of the tree branches and brush which whipped his face and body, tearing at his clothes, Jess continued to run deeper into the trees. He sank to his knees, chest heaving, as he drew air into his oxygen-starved lungs. His heart pounded as he studied his surroundings. He could hear Howard and Jonathan crashing through the woods behind him. They were on his trail and he knew it was only a matter of time before they'd find him. Without the use of his hands, he would be at their mercy when they caught him.

That's when he heard the unmistakable gurgle of a brook or stream. It was ahead of him some distance, but if he could hear it, he could find it. Leaning against the nearest tree, he struggled to his feet, stumbling forward, realizing that he was tiring. He couldn't keep up the pace in the uneven footing and overgrown woods for very much longer.

Just as he was about to emerge from the woods, his foot caught on a tree root. He fell and plunged headfirst down the steep bank; rolling and bumping against the jagged rocks. He lay where he had fallen, the breath knocked out of him. He could feel the rocks beneath him and struggled to find one sharp enough to cut the ropes binding his wrists. The rope separated with one last scrape down the rock. Jess doubled over and gasped in pain as blood flowed back into his hands. Although the ropes had been callously tight, the damage, if any, was minimal. His body was covered in scrapes and cuts. Circulation restored, the wounds now bled profusely, but Jess could hear the Granger brothers closing in on him.

The men's voices grew louder as they got closer. They would be upon him in a few moments. Without hesitation, Jess dove into the swirling stream. He wasn't a strong swimmer, but if they caught him, he was pretty sure they intended to hang him. Desperation drove him as he swam further away from the shore. The water was cold, taking his breath away even as it carried him downstream.

The Grangers had now reached the riverbank too. Jess could hear them shouting and cussing behind him. He was afraid they'd follow him into the river, but they didn't. Bullets sprayed the water's surface around him.

A bullet tore into his leg. The sudden pain broke his concentration. He didn't have time to grab a breath of air before his head went below the surface. He struggled then, desperately trying to get his head above water. He was choking on the water he had inadvertently sucked in upon going down. The river swept him downstream where it ran deeper and faster. It rolled him over the muddy bottom, slamming him against a multitude of rocks, cutting his skin and knocking the breath from his body.

He washed up into the shallows where he laid, coughing, and spitting water until he couldn't cough any more. Although he tried to gain his feet, the stones rolled out from under him, dropping him onto his knees and side multiple times. Finally, his feet found a purchase and he sunk onto the welcoming solid ground of the shoreline. He lay there, exhausted, battered, and bruised. He'd won a reprieve, but he was sure it was temporary. He couldn't imagine they would let him go that easily. He didn't know why they hadn't followed him into the river and overtaken him. In his current condition, they could have overpowered him easily. He didn't know how far down river he had been carried, but he heard no sound of pursuit.

His leg throbbed mercilessly. The bullet hadn't penetrated his leg; merely carving an angular channel the length of his thigh. He tied his neckerchief around it to stem the bleeding. He tore strips from his tattered shirt to wrap his damaged wrists. He lay there, shivering and teeth chattering as the sun went down.

Morning found him still lying on the shoreline. He hurt from head to toe and began coughing anew. Based on the sun's position, he knew he was on the far side of the river. Laramie – and home – lie to the east. He would have to go through the woods and hope he came upon a road.

_**CHAPTER THREE **_

It had been a week since Branch, Mort and Slim had realized Jess was missing. Although the men had done their best, they had lost Jess' trail somewhere between Rock River and Laramie. The sheriff had confirmed that Jess had been there and was headed home. But after that – nothing. He was just gone. Disappeared into nothingness. But how? And, more importantly – why?

The three of them sat in the chairs out front of Mort's office, discussing what their next move should be, when a messenger delivered a telegram to Mort. Mort assumed it was a response to the inquiries he had sent out to the surrounding towns. Slim tensed when he saw Mort frown before reluctantly handing the message over for Slim and Branch to read themselves.

"Harper wanted. Stop. Disturbing the peace. Stop. Arrest Warrant issued. Stop" It was signed by the Marshall in Medicine Bow.

Slim and Branch looked at each other in dismay. They had tracked Jess to Medicine Bow and knew he had left there well before the incident which had prompted the warrant.

A few minutes later another telegram was delivered to Mort. His expression grew even grimmer as he once again handed it off for Slim and Branch to read.

"Harper wanted. Stop. Assault and Battery. Stop. Arrest Warrant issued. Stop. $500 Reward offered. Stop. Arrest on sight. Stop."This one had been signed by the Sheriff in Riverdale.

Three more messages arrived in quick succession. Each town's Sheriff or Marshall had issued a warrant for Jess' arrest for various infractions. But the last one was the most ominous.

"Harper wanted for murder. Stop. Arrest Warrant issued. Stop. Considered armed and dangerous. Stop. $1,000 Reward - dead or alive. Stop."

Angrily, Slim crushed the messages. "This ain't Jess." He stormed, forgetting his normally proper English. Shaking his head in disbelief, he rested it on his palms, elbows bent on his knees. "You both know it. This ain't Jess. It can't be." He said without looking up.

Mort patted Slim's shoulder sympathetically while prying the offending messages from his hand. "I know, son. I know. But if Jess shows up, I gotta arrest him. Let's go inside and take a better look at these. Something don't seem right."

Slim paced Mort's office while Mort and Branch re-read the various messages. Slowly a pattern began to form. Based on the dates of the offenses, Jess had started out in Medicine Bow. The infraction there had been a minor one. Spaced only days apart, the level of violence had escalated with each incidence in each town. Furthermore, although the path zig zagged, from town to town, it clearly led in a direct line towards Laramie – Jess' home. Mort knew that meant Laramie would soon begin crawling with bounty hunters. They would be looking for Jess Harper and wanting to collect the $1,000 bounty on his head. The three men shared a worried look, each realizing that Jess was not only missing; his life was in danger.

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

Standing to get his bearings, Jess found his leg would support him, but it had already bled through his bandana. He had to escape – and do so quickly. He continued to head east.

He moved as swiftly and quietly as his leg allowed, leaving no visible trail. Yet he knew the Grangers would be on his trail soon – if they weren't already. He tired quickly, forcing him to rest more often than he liked. This was his second day without food or water – at least he thought it was. That, along with the blood loss, was taking their toll on him. Never one to carry any extra weight on his lithe form, his energy reserves were quickly burned up. He shivered with cold even though the sun blazed down.

He had paused once more, leaning against a tree for support, when he heard the twig snap. He instinctively knew it wasn't an animal and prepared to defend himself as best he could. He was determined they would not get their hands on him again.

They came at him from each side, rifles in their hands. Jess attacked the closest one – Jonathan - sweeping the rifle out of his way as he pummeled his assailant. They traded blows, neither backing down while Howard stood back and watched. Just as it seemed Jess was gaining the upper hand, Howard used his rifle to deliver a blow to the back of Jess' knees. Jess went down in a heap. They were on him in a second, pinning him to the ground before they pulled him up onto his knees. Jonathan stood behind Jess, his arms threaded through Jess'; his fingers interlaced and locked at the back of Jess' neck, holding him immobile.

Howard retrieved a canteen from where he had dropped it. He forced the canteen between Jess' lips, pouring the contents into his mouth. Jess recognized the taste and immediately spat the laudanum-laced water back at his captor. Howard took a moment to wipe the liquid from his face before giving Jess a resounding back handed slap that stunned him. Then his head was forced back, and the canteen put to his mouth again, the contents poured down his throat, heedless of his choking, struggling, and gasping until it was determined he had swallowed enough of the drugged liquid.

Jess fought the effects of the drug even as he slowly succumbed to it.

"You shoulda let me kill him." He heard one of the brothers say.

"You know the deal. Not until this is done. Then we can hang him. We'll have to be more careful. I'd forgotten how fast he is."

Jess stayed aware of his surroundings but was unable to move his limbs when his arms were released, and he was pushed to the ground. He could hear the two arguing, understanding only bits and pieces of what they were saying. He couldn't even react when he was slung, belly down, across the back of a horse; his hands and feet tied on either side of the saddle.

He was barely conscious of being unceremoniously dumped off the horse; hitting the hard ground before being dragged into the dilapidated barn. He vaguely registered having his arms pulled behind his back before metal cuffs were slapped on them. Unseen hands wielded a blacksmith's hammer, driving rivets into the restraints; securely and permanently locking them. He didn't even feel it when the hammer slipped, crushing his hand against the anvil.

Still under the drug's spell, Jess was only semi aware of being hauled to his feet and force-marched across the barn. There was an unaccustomed tightness around his ankles and a restriction in his stride. He thought he heard the distinct sound of chains as his feet shuffled along. Something struck the back of his legs causing him to fall to his knees. In the shadow of his mind he could hear the Granger's voices but still couldn't understand them. Full consciousness returned as a searing pain tore through his chest and arm muscles. Something had been attached to the short chain between his wrists. Then his hands had been jerked up, forcing him to bend over in an attempt to alleviate the pain. There was no getting away from the stress on his arms, shoulders, and chest. He hadn't felt them tie a rope around his knees. He wouldn't be able to use his legs for balance. Tied thusly, he was locked bent over, in the kneeling position, unable to move in any direction. He couldn't lift his head without adding to the strain on his shoulders. If he tried to move, he would dislocate his joints or even break his arms. He had only been in this position moments before his body began to quiver under the stress. He broke out in a sweat.

He'd seen this technique used when he had been captured and held as a POW. It had been used to subdue unruly prisoners or elicit vital information from suspected spies. Taken to the extreme – the person's body being fully suspended by the backwards bent arms - it usually ended with the prisoners suffering multiple dislocated joints and even death. It was an effective tool; allowing complete control of the prisoner, the intensity of the prisoner's pain, and relief from said pain. Most prisoners broke within 24 hours, willing to do or say anything that would prevent them from being returned to the tortuous position. His breath came in rasps as he fought the panic flooding his senses.

They left him there, alone. His muscles burned and quivered under the continued stress while his broken hand and bullet wound throbbed painfully. The hangman's noose still swung to and fro, its ominous shadow drifting in and out of Jess' line of vision. He tried to stay conscious. He knew if he passed out, his entire body weight would be suspended by his twisted arms, resulting in one, if not more, dislocated joints. Thus, the torture became multi-faceted. Awake, he was forced to endure the continuous pain and immobility. Passed out, he was relieved of the pain, but the weight of his own body became the instrument of torture.

_**CHAPTER FIVE**_

Several more telegrams had been delivered to Mort's office. The reward on Jess was now up to $2,500. He was credited with an attempted stagecoach robbery which had resulted in the shot gun being killed and the driver wounded. The driver had positively identified Jess by his clothing and hair color. The Overland Stage Line had offered the additional monies for his capture – insisting upon the dead or alive status previously issued. Slim had tried, to no avail, to talk his boss out of issuing the additional reward money. Failing that, he practically begged for the stage line to insist on Jess being brought in alive. His words fell on deaf ears before being told, effective immediately; the Overland would no longer need the Sherman-Harper Relay Station's services.

The Ranch was doing well enough to not be concerned about losing the Overland's business, but Slim was beside himself with worry and fear for his missing partner. What had started out as a search had now become a race to find and save Jess before the bounty hunters got to him. Heeding Mort's suggestion, Slim moved Beth and Nathan into town. Ray and Frank could handle the ranch work and any bounty hunters that turned up at the ranch. But they all feared for Beth's safety should an unsavory or unscrupulous bounty hunter find her there alone.

Slim would never forgive himself if she or Nathan came to any harm while he was away, so he had been quick to accept Mort's offer to let them stay at his house in town. Mort's house was cozy and a little crowded with the four of them there but none of them seemed to mind. Mort liked having his extended family under his roof where he could keep an eye on them and their safety.

_**CHAPTER SIX**_

Jess 'muscles trembled with exhaustion. He didn't know how long he'd been left tied in the punishing position. He'd figured that the Grangers had it in for him but couldn't make sense of the words he had heard in the clearing or why he was still alive. The barn door creaked open on rusty hinges, allowing a shaft of light to enter the dim barn before closing again. Steady footsteps approached him.

"Well now, how nice to see you again. I reckon you'd do just about anything for some relief from your, um shall we say, uncomfortable position." The owner of the voice moved to stand in front of Jess. Jess couldn't raise his head far enough to see the owner's face, but he recognized the voice and the silver tipped boots within his line of vision.

"Dobbs – Simon Dobbs. Why are you doing this to me? Why am I here?" Jess ground out.

Dobbs laughed wickedly before lighting a cigarette, carelessly dropping the match at his feet. Jess watched as it ignited some loose straw. Dobbs calmly stepped on the flame, snuffing it out.

"You're here Harper, because the Grangers and I have discovered we have the same contempt for you. You just couldn't keep your nose out of things, could you? If you'd stayed where you belonged, helping your sister, I'd have no part in this. But you had to go and accept that sheriff's job; do your duty. Well, that little gun-running gig you busted cost me a fortune. And those other two buffoons who let you get loose yesterday – well, let's just say they have a personal interest in seeing you dead. Something about a relative getting hung based on your testimony." He took a drag on his cigarette, exhaling with satisfaction before continuing on.

"I'm going to ruin your precious reputation, Harper. What you've built up over the last few years I'm going to destroy in less than a week. Then you're going to die. We're going to hang you and it will all be nice and legal. You're going to die a wanted thief and murderer. We had planned on just destroying your reputation and letting the law or bounty hunters take care of you when you came home. You know – like you wrote in your letter to Sherman. But you came home sooner than expected. All those letters you wrote. Well, it pays to have friends in the right places. It was so easy to intercept your mail. That's how we knew you were coming home. It was just a matter of waiting for you to arrive." He took another drag on his cigarette before dropping it to the floor and watched as it too set some loose hay on fire; then ground it out with his boot. He exhaled before continuing on.

"We couldn't let you reach home; not yet anyway. We had things to do. The Grangers aren't much use, but I needed to keep my hands clean and they're doing it for free. Was a bonus that the boy – Howard - looks sorta like you and is totally without moral character; made my plans a whole lot easier to accomplish. He's done quite well muddying your good name. You're already wanted dead or alive. The Overland has upped the reward on you to twenty-five hundred dollars. Seems the driver recognized you by your clothes. Imagine that." He paused, laughing softly to himself.

"How does it feel to be wanted by your own employer? Oh, ya - your pal Sherman – the Overland fired him and pulled the stage line. How's that for loyalty for ya? By the time we're through, you'll have committed major atrocities, with witnesses I might add, so there will be no doubt that you committed the crimes. You'll be such a scourge on the innocent citizens of the territory they'll be glad to dispense with the annoying legalities and go straight to the punishment. And, since I'm real cozy with a particular judge, I'm sure I can talk him into issuing an "on sight" warrant. It'll be legal to kill you on sight. No jail. No trial. No more dead or alive. You'll just be dead, and both the Grangers and I will have exacted our revenge. Getting to hang you is just an added bonus. I can't wait to see you swing."

Jess swallowed. The plan was brilliant in its simplicity. All they had to do was detain him while his look alike committed the crimes. Even if he escaped, there would be wanted posters out on him. Being wanted for multiple crimes, including murder; the reward would be paid for him dead or alive. Twenty-five hundred dollars would attract bounty hunters who preferred collecting on the "dead" part of the reward. And, if Dobbs succeeded in securing the "on sight" warrant, Jess knew even if he were captured alive, he'd never live longer than the time it took to string him up to the nearest tree. There was more than a fair share of people who would hunt him merely for the pleasure of stringing him up. When it was all said and done, and if he couldn't escape, Dobbs and the Grangers would hang him, deliver his body to the nearest town, and walk away scott free.

Dobbs turned to leave but strode back to stand before Jess. "Oh, by the way, I gave the Grangers permission to do what they want with you over the next few days. You can thank them for being strung up yesterday and your current 'predicament'. I would have been content merely holding you during our little operation. But it seems they want a little extra compensation for their loss. It was an easy decision; they can have you in exchange for waiting until I say it is time to hang you. Rest assured, they aren't allowed to kill you – not yet anyway. They're sick bastards, totally without a shred of human decency. You'll welcome the day you finally get hung; might even beg me to let them finish you off early.

However, I couldn't chance you escaping again while they had their fun, and we couldn't keep you drugged all the time. Sorry thing though, hated having to kill that doctor in order to steal the laudanum they poured down you. Couldn't keep that up, would bring too much attention to our little enterprise – hence your restraints.

They're prison shackles - you remember those don't you? The only way to remove them will be with a hammer and chisel. You'll go to your grave in those chains." Laughing, Dobbs left Jess to contemplate his fate.

Jess was barely conscious by the time Jonathan Granger entered the barn. Wordlessly he released the rope suspending Jess' arms, allowing him to sink to the floor. Jess writhed as new pain flooded his body; blood flowing back to his numb limbs. He curled into himself, taking deep breaths into his compromised lungs. His relief was momentary as Jonathan jerked the rope attached to his wrists, threading it through the chains around his ankles, pulling it taut and tying it off – effectively hog-tying Jess. At the moment, Jess didn't care. He could rest his head on the barn floor and had some relief for his aching muscles. Hearing Jonathan speak, Jess rolled as far onto his back as he could to look at his nemesis.

"You're a dead man, Harper." Jonathan gloated. "Dobbs won't let us kill you yet. Those bruises on your face – and that pain in your gut – I did those."

"You're real good at beating an unconscious man. That the only way you can best someone?" Jess asked his temper barely in check.

"Naw" answered Jonathan. "I just couldn't wait until you came to. Had to get something out of my system – and it felt so good to bust you up. The great Jess Harper – look at you. You ain't nothing."

"Well, free me and see if I'm still nothing." Challenged Jess. "Seems to me I got the better of you – both of you - the other day with my hands tied behind my back. That ain't nothin'."

Jonathan answered by delivering a solid kick to Jess' exposed stomach. Jess curled into himself again, trying to not vomit. "You wait, Harper. It's Howard's turn to have at you. But my turn is coming soon. It'll be even more satisfying with you conscious." He laughed before turning to leave the barn.

Jess lost track of time. He didn't know if he had passed out or had slept. From the angles of the shadows, he figured it was late afternoon when the Granger brothers returned for him. They released the ropes from his knees and ankles. Each took an arm, hauling him to his feet. His legs didn't seem to want to work right and the chains tripped him as they ushered him towards the open door. Howard held him while Jonathan lowered the noose to get hold of it.

Jess exploded as best he could. He threw his weight against Howard and head-butted Jonathan. He knew he couldn't escape – the shackles were too restrictive to do more than shuffle. But he wasn't going to let them hang him without a fight. Breathing heavily, he turned to face the brothers, only to feel a pistol crash into his skull. He went down like a load of bricks.

They were standing around him when he came to with a moan. Grinning like hyenas, the brothers brought him to his feet again. He twisted and turned, trying to escape their hold but they held him fast as Dobbs dropped the noose around his neck. Jess felt the rope tighten until he was barely able to keep his feet on the floor. Dobbs walked over to lean against the framework. "I warned you they are without any moral character. You'll pay for that little episode." Then nodding to the Grangers, he said. "He's all yours. Just don't kill him – yet."

Jess was unprepared for the kidney punch Jonathan threw from behind him. He would have gone down except for the rope around his neck. As it was, it tightened and his air was cut off until, with great difficulty, he got his feet under him again. Without his arms to balance himself and with the short chain between his ankles keeping him from using his legs effectively, staying upright was almost impossible. He reeled with Howard's first blow, steadied only because Jonathan was holding him firm by his arms. Howard pummeled him with series of punches, laughing in delight when his knees finally buckled. Jonathan let go of him, letting his weight tighten the rope around his throat. They stood, watching him strangle until they decided they'd pushed it far enough. Only then did they release the rope and let him fall to the floor.

It was dark when he awoke. He was once again tied as before. The cool earth felt good to his battered body. He would have given anything for a drink of water. He didn't know how many more of those "rounds" he could survive.

_**CHAPTER SEVEN**_

Mort stared in dismay at the pile of telegrams on his desk. Reports were flooding his office - Jess Harper accused of robbing multiple farmsteads; killing, looting, and burning. Jess Harper positively identified in a bank robbery; another stagecoach holdup – this time both the driver and guard killed. Jess Harper seen fleeing scene of gunfight. Jess Harper accused of assault and battery. Jess Harper accused of cold-blooded murder in front of witnesses who positively identified him. In less than a week, in the eyes of the law, Jess Harper had gone from respected rancher to a wanted criminal with a significant reward for his capture and an "on sight" warrant hanging over his head. It was now legal to kill Jess on sight.

And yet, Jess had not contacted anyone; had not been seen in or around Laramie. That alone signaled to his three friends that something was definitely amiss. They knew without a doubt that Jess would never do any of the crimes he was accused of. Even when he was in trouble, Jess had always reached out to Slim, trusting his friend; sometimes he'd reached out to Mort, trusting the lawman even though he sometimes still distrusted the law. He had not been near the ranch either – another oddity – because Jess had always sought refuge there. It just didn't make sense that no one who knew Jess had seen or heard from him. That was the most troubling part of it all – no contact, no verified sightings – and no Jess. All of the sightings of Jess Harper were by people who did not know him personally; identifying him only by his general description and growing criminal reputation. They were aware of how an outlaw could get accused of crimes he didn't commit just because it was assumed he was the one committing them. There was another abnormality in the descriptions. Not one of them had described the perpetrator as riding a little bay gelding.

_**CHAPTER EIGHT**_

The hangman's noose still encircled Jess' neck as he lay sprawled on the dirt floor, his arms once again tied up, away from his body, continuing the constant pressure on his shoulders and joints. It was only mildly less painful than being forced to kneel with his arms ratcheted up like that. He shivered, even as fever began to settle in. Lacking any medical attention, his untreated wounds had become infected. He was sure by now he had several cracked, if not broken ribs. His eyes were nearly swollen shut, his lips cut and bloodied. His head hurt from the numerous times they had pistol-whipped him. He was fairly certain his right hand was now broken too. While they had held him down, one of them had stood on his hand and "accidentally" ground it under their boot heel.

Jess'neck was scraped raw and his throat hurt. His breath wheezed with every effort to draw air into his oxygen starved lungs - the after effect of their "toying" with him. Not only had the brothers taken turns beating him, they had taken turns selecting his punishment for testifying against their father. When their lust for beating him abated, they would leave him hanging there, laughing at his struggles to stay on his feet. They taunted him about how their father had been hung; reminding him his day was coming. Other times, they had made him stand unaided with the noose around his neck while they tied his knees and ankles together so he couldn't move; had no way to balance himself. They took bets as to how long before he passed out and his legs crumbled beneath him. The noose would tighten under his weight, slowly strangling him. They'd stand by, letting him suffocate for what seemed an eternity before releasing the rope and letting him fall unceremoniously to the floor.

They'd leave him on his knees, arms suspended behind him until he was on the brink of passing out. When they released his suspended arms, the release caused new pain to surge through his limbs. They had played their games with him enough that his bouts of consciousness came less often and for shorter periods of time. He was weakening rapidly. One of these times, he wouldn't awaken. When they grew bored with making him pass out, they'd leave him lying on the floor, his ankle chains padlocked to a convenient post. They didn't believe he had the strength to do anything or go anywhere, but experience had taught them to not underestimate him.

He tried to swallow, choking on his own saliva which then drooled out his mouth onto the dirt floor. He wished desperately for a drink of water but doubted his ability to swallow it. He'd lost track of the days and the number of times they had played their sick games. He'd begun coughing up blood. He knew his time was running out. Every day he grew weaker. He was dying. He didn't know when they planned to hang him, but he sincerely doubted he'd live long enough for them to enjoy the privilege.

The barn door opened and admitted all three of his captors. He could barely see through his swollen eyelids but recognized the triumphant tone to Dobbs' voice. He held a paper in an upraised hand, shouting his jubilation. "You're dead, Harper. You're dead. I have the on-sight warrant. There's one more thing to be done. We hang you at noon tomorrow. You've got less than twenty-four hours to live."

Jess turned his head to the dirt floor. He didn't want to see Dobbs' jubilance or the Granger's excitement at his upcoming death. He tried to block out the knowledge he had less than 24 hours to live. In less than 24 hours, if he wasn't already dead from the infection, they'd hang him.

It was broad daylight the next time he awoke. In his delirium, he heard a soft wicker followed by cussing and the sound of a whip crack. Shod hooves clicked against gravel followed by the distinct rhythm of a horse bucking. There was much shouting and cursing combined with the horse's angry bellow as he strove to unseat his rider. Recognizing the horse's wicker and bellow, Jess strained to see through the open door. Howard Granger was aboard a bucking and bellowing Traveler. Traveler's mouth was bleeding from the heavy hands jerking his bit. Howard's spurs raked his sides while repeatedly applying a quirt to the gelding's flanks. This went on for a few minutes before Howard beat Traveler into submission and galloped away, continuing to lay the quirt on the gelding's hind quarters.

Jess sobbed for the abuse meted out to his beloved mount. No one else had ridden Traveler since the day Jess had bought him. They'd been together many years now and the horse was his most trusted and prized possession.

After Howard had ridden away, Jonathan Granger came to the barn to torment Jess some more. He studied the disabled Harper before delivering a resounding kick to Jess' ribs. Jess heard the bones crack; felt his joints strain under the forced change in his position. Granger laughed at the rancher's fury over Traveler's treatment, taunting him with how Howard was going to teach the critter some manners. Howard was good at using his spurs and quirt; would spare the horse no mercy. Not content with cracking Jess's ribs with his kick and taunting him about Traveler's treatment, he walked over and tightened the rope fastened to Jess' cuffs. He didn't stop until he finally elicited a tortured cry from Jess' lips when his abused shoulders finally separated under the added strain of his full body weight. Jonathan checked to be sure the rope was secure before closing the doors, grinning with satisfaction at leaving the unconscious Jess suspended by his now useless arms.

Time lost all meaning. He remembered Dobbs saying he had less than 24 hours to live but had no time frame for reference. Was that yesterday or today? Was his last day on earth today or tomorrow? The only relief from the pain and fever racking his body was when he mercifully passed out; only to reawaken to the never-ending torture. It scared him that a part of him wished for them to come for him. After all, that was what they wanted – for him to die inch by inch – to wish to die. They'd won. He would go to his grave in chains. He almost welcomed them tightening the noose around his neck for the last time.

Morbidly, he wondered how they would accomplish their task. They weren't knowledgeable enough to hang him so his neck would snap, ending his existence immediately. No, he knew they wanted to see him struggle; fight for every breath left in his body. Would they make him stand on something only to kick it out from under him? Would they heave him off the floor by his neck, his toes tantalizingly close to the ground and watch his final, desperate, struggle for survival? Or would they hoist him into the bed of a wagon, only to drive it out from under him; watching while he twisted and swung in the air, legs kicking, during his death throes?

At least if his body were turned in for the bounty, Slim would come to take him home. Slim and Mort would make sure he was buried properly. Maybe Slim would remember his favorite spot out by the cherry tree and bury him there.

The word "home" echoed within him. Dreams and memories taunted his fevered mind – the stagecoaches rolling in, the cool shimmering lake where he and Slim and first met one another. There were other scenes - Slim riding beside him, fighting beside him. The scenes faded but Slim was still there - reaching out a hand to grasp his own, pulling him back; giving Jess his own strength. He could hear Slim's voice telling him to hold on. Then dark clouds rolled over the scene in his head. He could no longer hear Slim's voice as Slim's hand slowly slipped away from his grasp. Jess tried to cry out, but no sound came from his lips. Instead, his mind screamed one word - "SLIM!"

_**CHAPTER EIGHT**_

Slim Sherman awoke with a start, nearly falling off the chair where he had fallen asleep in Mort Cory's office. Having observed Slim's mad scramble to keep from falling, Mort opened his mouth to tease him but then stopped. Slim was standing, wild eyed, in the center of Mort's office. He was gasping for breath, holding one hand to his throat like it hurt while bracing on Mort's desk with the other. "Jess!" Slim whispered hoarsely, certain that he had heard his partner call out to him. As their eyes met, Mort could see genuine fear and anguish in the blond rancher's eyes. "Mort, he's dying!" Mort had seen this connection between his two best friends before. He didn't understand it, but he trusted it. "We've got to find him before it's too late" was all he said. His long legs crossed the floor back and forth quickly. Raking his fingers through his hair, he continued to pace restlessly.

All further conversation was interrupted by gunshots out in the street. Cries of "The bank's been robbed" reached them. Women screamed and ran for cover as a solitary rider on a bay gelding thundered through the center of town. The familiar rider was snapping shots at anyone he passed. Mort drew a bead on the rider fleeing past his office. He hesitated; loathe killing one of his best friends, even though the evidence of his friend's lawlessness was staring him in the face. He was bewildered when Slim grabbed his rifle from Alamos's scabbard, calmly stepped into the street as the rider passed, dropped to one knee, drew a bead on the fleeing rider and fired. The rider jerked and looked like he was going to fall before leaning over the horse's neck and spurring him on.

Slim was instantly in action, slamming the rifle home into the scabbard, yelling. "That ain't Jess." He swung aboard Alamo and galloped off without a look back. Mort was quick to do likewise, but Slim had a significant head start. Mort couldn't see Slim any longer, but Alamo's huge stride and shoes left tracks that were easy to spot as he followed along as quickly as his horse could carry him.

_**CHAPTER NINE**_

Simon Dobbs checked the time then put his pocket watch away. "It's time." He announced. Jonathan Granger solemnly nodded his agreement and fell into step walking towards the barn. Together they harnessed a team of horses, hitching them to a buckboard.

Jess opened his eyes as the door creaked open and daylight flooded the barn. Vaguely his mind registered that this was it. They were going to hang him, and he was too weak and helpless to stop it. He watched as the buckboard was backed into the barn before Dobbs tied off the reins and jumped down.

Dobbs and Granger each grabbed one of Jess's arms, hauling him to his feet and dragging him to the end of the wagon. Jess used the last of his strength to fight against being placed in the wagon - his execution "scaffold". It was over quickly when Jonathan drove a fist into the wound on Jess' thigh, causing the leg to give out on him. Before he could recover, they had him inside the wagon; carelessly grabbing his broken shoulders, the pain enough to make him nearly pass out again. Dobbs held him up while Jonathan readjusted the hangman's noose higher on Jess' neck, closer to his jaw, the knot below his ear. Making sure the noose was tight against Jess' neck, Jonathan jumped down to tie it off; forcing Jess to remain standing or be choked right then and there.

Jess willed himself to stay upright even though he felt his strength ebbing away. If his legs gave out again, he'd be responsible for hanging himself. No one would need to drive the team out from under him; he would be doing their job for them.

Dobbs lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply, pleased with his handiwork and how things were progressing. He pulled the buggy whip from its holder in preparation for sending the team out from under Harper. It was then that Dobbs and Granger began to disagree about how to proceed. Dobbs wanted to get it over with. Jonathan wanted to wait until his brother came back. After all, they had seen it through this far together. He wasn't about to deprive his sibling of the finale.

Jonathan turned upon hearing his brother's shout as he galloped into the yard. Dobbs took advantage of the moment to yell while bringing the whip down hard across the nearest horse. Surprised, it bolted forward, its teammate jumping to keep up as the team fled the barn. Hearing the commotion behind him, Jonathan looked back. He turned livid upon seeing his prey hanging, feet dangling in the air. In the blink of an eye, Jonathan drew and fired his gun. Dobbs fell backwards, killed instantly. No one saw the cigarette fall from his limp hand and the smoke that curled from the moldy hay where it landed.

Jonathan turned back to help his brother slide to the ground. He held Howard as Howard clutched his side where Slim's bullet had found its mark. "We gotta get outta here." He said in a panicked voice, his free hand fisted in his brother's shirt. "They're right behind me – the sheriff I think, and another rider. I wasn't fast enough. Someone shot me." He was breathing rapidly. "Did you do it? Did we get Harper?" Jonathan moved so his brother could see the open doorway. "Ya, we got him." Howard's smile turned into a grimace as he died in his brother's arms.

Jonathan looked up when he heard a whoosh coming from behind him. Black smoke billowed out every opening and crevice as flames grew and consumed the rotted contents of the barn. He hesitated only a moment before running to his horse and fleeing. No one knew about him. No one knew he had helped Howard with the multiple raids and killings. The sheriff would arrive to find Howard and Dobbs. What they made of it was up to them, but he was pretty sure they would not be following him. He had lost out on his share of the reward. He could live with that. He cherished the sight of Jess Harper's limp body framed by the open door of the burning barn.

_**CHAPTER TEN**_

Jess had no conscious thoughts as his body dropped and the noose jerked tight around his throat. His body convulsed; twisting and twitching as it reacted to the slow strangulation. His legs kicked back and forth of their own accord, his hands frantically fighting to free themselves of the metal restraints. Oxygen deprived lungs burned while his heart pounded against his chest.

Somewhere, his fevered mind registered the smell of burning hay and lumber. Unbidden, his thoughts raced back to another fire in another place and time. The screams of his family perishing echoed through his brain. He made peace with the fact he would meet the same fate as his family. Somehow it seemed fitting for it to end like this. He would join his family in the same manner that they had been taken from him – dying in a burning building.

He could feel his mind and body letting go as he sunk deeper and deeper into a dark nothingness. He heard his beloved Daisy Cooper chiding him in her no-nonsense voice. "Jess Harper, don't you dare give up" It was a voice he couldn't possibly have heard; but neither should he have been able to smell roses, Daisy's favorite flower. Yet he slipped deeper into the darkness calling him. In one last moment of clarity, he found himself mentally sobbing – not pity for himself, but sorrow for the grief his death would bring Slim. "I'm sorry Slim." his mind screamed. "Please forgive me!" He felt his life slipping away. His senses overwhelmed, what was left of his mind accepted defeat and stopped fighting – even welcoming the end to his pain.

He heard the fire roaring around him. A slick sheen now covered him. Sweat rivulets that he couldn't wipe away ran into his eyes and down his face. He was past feeling anything.

"Oh, no you don't, Jess Harper!" It was Daisy's "I caught you in the cookie jar again" voice. Then more gently, lovingly, "Hang on, Jess, dear. Hang on. It's not your time."

"I can't Daisy. I jes' can't." He mentally whispered. His body went slack. Just before he lost consciousness, he smelled roses.

_**CHAPTER ELEVEN**_

Slim turned Alamo off the Laramie road and spurred him down a narrow, almost obscure, trail. He had lost sight of the rider, but somehow knew where he was headed. At a fork in the trail, he pulled Alamo to an abrupt halt. Feeling his rider's anxiety, Alamo shook his head, fighting the suddenly heavy hands on the reins. He spun on his haunches, his front feet bouncing on the ground, threatening to rear. Slim's blood ran cold when he saw the cloud of black smoke off to the left. He turned Alamo towards the smoke and spurred him on. He didn't allow his mount to slow until he had ridden into the yard where black smoke continued to billow from the burning barn. Alamo shied sideways and started to rear as Slim dismounted before they had even stopped. Terrified of the fire, Alamo bolted, jerking the reins from Slim's hand.

Slim called out Jess' name several times, straining to hear anything over the fire's roar. Raising his arm up to protect his face, he sought vainly to see anything through the fire. For a moment, the flames parted. His heart lurched upon seeing his partner's limp body swinging in the open doorway. He felt his stomach retch at the sight. Repeatedly, he tried to enter the building, only to have the heat drive him back.

In desperation, he plunged through the opening. Heat enveloped him, making it hard to breathe. Flames licked at him then miraculously separated, opening a pathway into the burning building. Somehow his knife was in his hand. Reaching up, he cut the rope holding Jess, letting his partner's body fall across his shoulder. In moments he was exiting the building as it collapsed upon itself.

Outside, Slim sank to his knees and laid Jess down. He pulled the noose from around Jess' neck and flung it far from them. He placed two fingers against Jess' throat, praying to find a pulse, but found none. He was shocked at what he saw. Jess' hair was matted and caked with blood in several places. He was covered in bruises, his eyelids swollen, black and blue. His hands were bound behind his back. The metal cuffs so tight they were nearly embedded into Jess' swollen and infected wrists. His arms, and what Slim could see of his sides, were covered in bruises. He lifted Jess' limp upper body and gasped when he saw Jess' back – what was left of his shirt was stuck to a mangled mess of bruises and torn, infected flesh. As he held Jess in his arms, he became aware of the festered gash on his thigh and the shackles encircling his ankles.

Somewhere in his grief, Slim heard Mort arrive. Mort was beside him in an instant.

Raising anguished eyes to meet Mort's, he said in a choked whisper. "I was too late." Then, looking back down and drawing Jess' body closer to himself said bitterly. "He's dead, Mort. They beat the hell out of him and then they hung him, and the fire. Did they set it on purpose to cover up his murder? They hung him, Mort" Slim whispered repeatedly, overwhelmed by his grief. "They hung him."

He felt an unseen hand touch his shoulder and it startled him. He thought he heard Jess's voice saying "I'm sorry Slim. I didn't make it home this time."

Slim gently cradled Jess' body even closer to himself. His cheek pressed against the top of Jess' head, Slim softly whispered "Don't worry, Pard. You're going home. I'm taking you home where you belong."

Mort patted his shoulder sympathetically, saying, "I'll get some blankets to cover him."

"Mort," Slim pleaded, wiping a sleeve across is eyes; "Can you take these off him?" he nodded to the cuffs. "He doesn't need to go home in chains."

"Sure, son, I should have thought of that myself." Mort knelt, fished a key out of his pocket, and unsuccessfully tried to insert it into the lock. He looked more closely, realizing that it would never open. He checked the others to find the same thing. "I'm sorry, Slim, there's no key that'll unlock these. We're going to have to file them off – or get the blacksmith to chisel them off."

Slim nodded his understanding but refused to relinquish Jess from his arms. He continued to hold Jess closely, his cheek still resting against his partner, unconsciously rocking back and forth as if comforting him. Speaking more to himself than Mort, Slim murmured "He still had nightmares from when he was in prison. He wouldn't talk about it, but you'll remember how he reacted in the early days, those times when you had to arrest him. He hated being shackled; brought back too many bad memories. This" he said indicating the chains on Jess' wrists and ankles. "This must have driven him crazy." Slim gently traced the red mark encircling Jess's neck and wept. Still unable to understand his partner was gone, he repeated once more. "They hung him, Mort." Slim looked up, imploring Mort to understand. "I don't want anyone to see him like this. The town doesn't need to know."

Mort patted Slim's shoulder sympathetically before saying, "I'll get those blankets. We'll do right by him. We'll use the wagon to take him back. No one will know. Jess will go home with dignity."

_**CHAPTER TWELVE**_

Jess stood in the yard watching the barn burn. For the first time since he had been taken, he felt no pain. He realized that he was fully dressed in his favorite blue shirt, jeans, boots, vest, and black hat. His black gloves were neatly tucked into his gun belt which now hung comfortably across his hips.

Slim was there too. Kneeling on the ground, he held a limp body against his chest. Jess barely recognized it was his own lifeless form Slim was holding. Touching Slim's shoulder, Jess was surprised when Slim flinched. "I'm sorry Slim. I didn't make it home this time."

He watched as Slim gently cradled his body even closer to himself. His cheek pressed against the top of Jess' head, Slim softly whispered "Don't worry, Pard. You're going home. I'm taking you home where you belong."

The scene leaped forward in time. Jess watched as Slim wrapped his broken body in a blanket before carrying it to the waiting wagon. Mort was there too, helping to settle him in the back, covering him with another blanket. Then Slim and Mort climbed into the seat. They sadly headed the wagon back towards town, their shoulders slumped in grief.

Jess stood beside the burned-out barn. "Slim!" he called after the departing wagon. "Slim!"

A gray mist covered the ground, obscuring everything but a small window encircling the scene before him.

"He can't hear you, dear." Jess turned to see Daisy standing beside him. He stared at her, confused.

"I'm dead ain't I." it was more statement than question.

"No, not yet. You haven't decided."

"What-do-ya-mean?"

She slipped an arm through his. "Come with me, Jess."

Jess pulled his arm away. "Wait, where am I? Is momma and the little ones here? Can I see them?"

She smiled patiently, gently rubbing his arm comfortingly. "Yes, dear, they're here – right over there – see?" she said pointing. Across a bridge, a small cabin surrounded by a white picket fence came into view. His mom was singing an old tune that Jess remembered from his youth. She hung wash on the line while the children played in the yard around her. She looked so young and beautiful – even more beautiful than he remembered. She turned and waved. He felt her love.

Jess eagerly stepped towards the bridge, but Daisy grasped his arm. "Not yet, dear. If you cross the bridge you can't come back. Just wait. You have time to decide. If that's where you want to be, you'll be able to do so."

Once again, she took his arm and patted it like she had done so many times in life. "I'm afraid you have a huge decision to make. You weren't supposed to die. It wasn't your time. But your body and spirit were broken. Your mind was almost gone from the Granger's torture– so you are being given the choice of staying here or going back."

Arm in arm they walked through the mist. "If you decide to go back, it won't be easy for you. The Granger's handiwork damaged your mind and body. It will take months for your body to heal. That means more pain, Jess. More pain than you've just endured and there will be times you may regret being alive. But you will recover." She paused, worry for the young man evident in her touch and eyes. "Mentally, Jess, you were at your breaking point. One more day and you would have passed the point of no return. You're still on the brink. Your journey back will be further and worse than your body's healing. Things you once took in stride will become challenges for you. You'll question your faith, your friends, and your sanity more than a few times. There will be people to help you along the way but not all of them will have your best interests at heart."

Tears in her eyes, she took one of his hands in both of hers, gently rubbing her thumbs over the back of it before she continued. "But your hands -You need to know that the nerve damage is severe. It will take the longest to heal and the most patience on your part – and we both know patience is not your strong suit." He started to respond but she continued. "You will be frustrated at your slow progress. You'll be angry and lash out at everyone – even those you love. You will hurt those closest to you. You must decide if you can live with that.

There's one more thing. Even though you will be absolved of all the crimes Howard Granger committed, your reputation will be in ruins. Except for your closest friends – and you do have them –it will be like the first years when you came to Laramie. You'll have to earn people's trust again. Oh, no – not Slim or Mort or Beth – they have never wavered in their faith in you. Branch will become a needed friend. He'll help you sort it all out. You do have friends, Jess; friends that won't let you down. You'll have to trust them, something you've always had trouble with. You won't be able to do this alone. You are going to need them."

They had come to a bench situated under a sprawling apple tree. A sparkling brook wound its way downstream. Daisy sat upon the bench while Jess walked to the stream, watching the water gurgle over the rocky bottom.

Continuing to stare into the stream, shoulders hunched, hands stuffed into his pockets, he finally asked: "What about Slim and Beth? Will they be okay without me? Will Slim continue to build the ranch like we planned?"

"They'll be fine. Sad, but things will go on, as they always do. However, their lives will be richer with you in it. It'll be their loss not having you in their lives"

"If I go back – what happens after I recover? Will I still work the ranch with Slim? Will I have to move away?"

"I only know what your recovery will be like. What happens after is entirely up to you. However, I do know there are many good things yet to come for you – if you decide to live. That chapter isn't completely written yet.

On the other hand, you can stay here. Your body and mind will be whole. Your hands will be as they were. No one will ever hurt you again. You'll never feel pain again. Never feel heat or cold, hunger or thirst. Your past will once and for all be behind you. You'll never have to draw your gun again. Never take another life. You won't be impatient or angry. You won't hurt the ones you love."

He frowned. "I'm tired, Daisy; tired of fighting to live my life. Tired of my past disrupting my future. I'm tired of everything good slipping through my fingers." He sat on the bench beside her. He set his hat beside him and leaned back against the tree. "But I'm so tired. I don't think I can do it anymore. There's nothing left inside me. I'm an empty shell of a person. I just don't want to hurt. I don't want to hurt anyone. I don't want to have to kill again."

"Rest here for a while. Sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." She rose and walked away. Jess closed his eyes and felt his body slip into a deep slumber.

He was transported back in time. He was a child again. He lay with his head on his mother's lap, feeling her gently stroke his hair as she sang a toneless tune, lulling him to sleep. He felt safe and warm and loved.

The next image caused him to frown, his body tensing. He saw the family's home crumbling in flames as he heard the desperate cries of those trapped inside. Tears stained his cheeks as the child in him watched the Bannister gang ride away, helpless to do anything.

Images of the following years passed before him. He'd been an angry and out of control youth. He'd honed his gun skills, becoming fast and feared. He wasn't proud of those years – the times he had skirted the law and the times he had been forced to kill. His mentors had been outlaws. His lifestyle had put him in near constant danger, accepting that being kill or be killed was part of what he was. It ended when he spent that year in prison. He swore he'd never go back – never do anything that would put him back there.

By chance, he had met Trent Stuart, a United States Marshal, who saw something in him. He had been deputized and for the first time he was proud of the skills that allowed him to do the job well. Together they had trailed the Bannister gang, the result being justice for Jess' family and a violent end to Bannister himself. Then the itch to move on was too strong and he drifted, finally ending up beside a lake outside the town of Laramie.

Even in his sleep he smiled, remembering his first encounter with one Slim Sherman. That was quickly followed by the immediate and total acceptance of him by Slim's younger brother, Andy. Just after Andy had gone away to school, Mike and Daisy had come into his and Slim's lives. It hadn't been easy to adjust to staying put. His past kept popping up to raise havoc with his life. But he had slowly let down the barriers and learned that he was loved unconditionally.

Then Beth had joined their mixed family. Slim had fallen for her the instant he'd seen her. It had taken a while, but the big lug had finally gotten around to marrying her. In his dream, Jess could see Slim and Beth walking across the yard. Slim was carrying a sleeping, long legged, blond haired boy – the spitting image of the man who held him. The child's blond head nestled peacefully against his father's broad chest, secure in those strong arms. The image made him smile. He sensed that Beth and Slim were, indeed, parents of a blond haired, blue-eyed boy. He had a nephew – one he had never met and might never meet.

Jess remembered Daisy's warning and frowned. Would he hurt his family? Would his anger during recovery cause them to fear him? Keep the child away from him? He'd never forgive himself if he caused Slim's child to be hurt or afraid of him. But if the unthinkable happened – the child feared him, or worse, was endangered by him - would Slim send him away? He knew this was his greatest fear – to be rejected; kept from the people and home he had come to love.

He imagined the new plans for the ranch. The spot on those plans marked "Jess' house" called him. He longed for it. For the first time he wanted something that was his; something that he had built with his own hands.

Tears leaked from his eyes as thoughts swirled around in his head. He saw what his immediate future would be like. It would be a whole new fight for him; one that would walk him through the depths of indescribable pain – both mentally and physically. He saw the slight but permanent limp he'd carry caused by lack of medical treatment. But he also saw his gun hand returned to lightning speed; saw stacks of bodies, past and future, fallen by his hand. His head rocked back and forth. "No!" he cried out. "I can't do it anymore. I've got nothin' left. I just can't."

He heard his mother's voice shushing him tenderly. Felt her gentle fingers stroke his hair like when he was a child, soothing him. "Sleep my son. The answer will come to you. You have traveled far and experienced much in your lifetime. But you have always followed your heart and it has served you well. Rest now. There is still time."

"It hurts, ma. It hurts more 'an I can stand. I can't take it anymore. I can't. I can't hurt them. I won't hurt them." he cried out in anguish.

"What do you mean, Jess? Hurt who?"

"Slim –Beth - the baby. I can't hurt them. I can't be around them. Can't let them be scared of me."

"Shush, my love. Rest easy. The Grangers messed with your mind. Hurt your body. But you are my son. You are strong enough. You have always been the strong one. When the time comes, you'll know which choice to make."

"I don't wanna hurt anymore. I can't" he whispered again. "I just can't hurt them anymore."

"Follow your heart, Jess. No matter what you decide, know that I love you."

The plans for the ranch came to mind again. He remembered how happy he and Slim had been as they designed the ranch's new layout and Jess chose the location for his own home. Then Jess had sketched out the design for his ideal house. Slim was going to help him build it. But he'd gone away again. Would Slim take him back? Would Slim even want him back when he was going to need a lot of care during recovery? Who would help him? He couldn't put that on Beth. The drawing of his house began to pulse, matching his own heartbeat, his desire for it growing.

Jess awoke and looked around. Daisy came back and joined him, sitting on the bench. "They're waiting for us." She stated. He nodded sorrowfully as they rose. He fidgeted with the hat he held in his hand as they walked back the way they had come. They stopped at the opening in the mist. He watched the scene replay before him. Slim was once again kneeling beside Jess' lifeless body. He saw Slim flinch when Jess touched his shoulder. Mort stood beside Slim, ready to help carry Jess to the waiting wagon.

Jess turned away, looking across the bridge, seeking his mother again. She now stood at the edge of the picket fence, both hands clasped over her heart, smiling with a mother's pride. "I love you" he mouthed, pleased to see her mouth it back to him. Then he turned to Daisy and enveloped her in a bear hug. "I love you, Daisy. I'm sorry I never told you that when you were alive. I've missed you something fierce."

Daisy reached up and pushed the wayward curl off his forehead then gently placed her hands, one on either side of his face. "I love you too, dear. I've always felt your love – you, Slim and even young Mike. There was never any need for the words to be said. We were family. I'm so proud of you." She released him, bringing one of her hands to her mouth, the other poised lightly on his arm, concern worrying her face. "Oh my! The time went so quickly. It's time Jess." She said, anxiously looking up at him. "You've decided?"

"Ya, I reckon." He said. He watched Slim and Mort as they faded from sight

He brushed his hair back with one hand before settling his hat on his head. His jaw set with determination, he turned and placed a foot solidly on the bridge.

He clutched his chest as a sharp pain made him gasp, stopping him in his tracks. His lungs began to burn from lack of oxygen.

"What's happening?" he croaked, struggling to breathe, his hands unconsciously grabbing at his neck.

"You're going back."

"I don't understand. I chose . . ."

"You chose to sacrifice yourself. You'd give up your life because you love them – to protect them – just as you always have, and always will. That part of you hasn't changed, wasn't damaged by the Grangers. Your true spirit has survived. Go live your life, Jess. You are going to be needed in the future."

He struggled to breathe as the noose tightened around his throat, his arms once again chained behind his back. His shackled feet dangled in the air, as his body reacted to the painful stimulus. Then darkness overtook him

THE END


End file.
